


come back to me, my love

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Lance's Insecurities, M/M, Nightmares, but with a happy-ish ending i guess, nothing too bad tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: Lance remembers laying down on the soft bed, the sheets pooling over him as he turned on his side to stare at Keith beside him. Lance remembers the way Keith gazed at him, the way his fingers carded through Lance’s hair, and the way he placed a soft kiss on Lance’s forehead. Lance remembers pulling Keith closer, greedily accepting that warmth. Lance remembers the rumble of the castle ship acting as a lullaby.He doesn’t remember falling asleep.(or a Lance centric nightmare piece with Klance)





	come back to me, my love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Dreamscape zine in the nightmares section. I had a blast writing this and it’s probably one of my favorite stories. 
> 
> Also, I collabed with @krelkael on tumblr who drew an amazing piece for this story--I’ll update with a link when/if they post it.

 

Lance remembers laying down on the soft bed, the sheets pooling over him as he turned on his side to stare at Keith beside him. Lance remembers the way Keith gazed at him, the way his fingers carded through Lance’s hair, and the way he placed a soft kiss on Lance’s forehead. Lance remembers pulling Keith closer, greedily accepting that warmth. Lance remembers the rumble of the castle ship acting as a lullaby. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

When Lance opens his eyes, he is five years old and gazes at the stars. A presence sits beside him on a grassy hill, and Lance can hear the ocean somewhere far below. He's back home. Wind dances in his hair as if welcoming him after a long voyage, but he knows he hasn’t strayed far--not yet at least. 

He slides his knees to his chest--they’re scraped from a game of fútbol a few hours ago--and his eyes flicker to the older man beside him, hanging onto his voice. Lance hasn’t heard it in so, so long. 

" _ Mira _ ," his father says. Lance tracks his pointed finger to three stars in a row; hundreds of other stars surround them, but they stand out like they have for centuries. "Orion's Belt."

"It doesn't look like a belt," Lance frowns childishly, tilting his head to examine the sight further. Where's the buckle? It's just three stars; they’re pretty, he’ll admit, but he can’t see what his father talks about.

Deep laughter rumbles through the ground Lance sits on, and his father's dark eyes flicker down. "That's why you have to use your imagination,  _ mijo _ ."

“Papá,” Lance can’t help but whine, throwing himself onto the ground, spreading out his lanky limbs like a starfish. “That’s too much work.  _ Estoy cansado _ .” A palm tree far off to Lance’s left rustles in agreement. 

“It’s not that difficult,” his father attempts again, “Just think of a story surrounding those three stars; believe in something fantastical.”

A pout sets on Lance’s face as he narrows his eyes. Tilting his head to see it from a different angle, Lance still can’t comprehend it as a belt, but as he stares at those unblinking stars, he begins to imagine what it would be like to travel that far away, to visit them for himself. Suddenly, Lance’s body itches to move. 

Vibrations begin to tremble through him, then they grow stronger and stronger until Lance’s father jumps up with unadulterated fear in his eyes. 

Tiny hairs rise on the back of Lance’s neck; this is not how this memory plays out--they went home, right? His mother had a snack waiting for them; Marco had been playing his guitar on the porch. This isn’t right. Trapped inside his young body, Lance can’t help but experience whatever this is, the emotions as real as if he actually lived through an event like this. 

An earthquake in Cuba hasn’t happened in a long time, and Lance would have almost thought they were a myth if he hadn’t learned about them in school a few weeks ago. Stumbling as he tries to stand, Lance’s blue eyes frantically skirt around the premise. Strong arms wrap around his thin frame as his father lifts him into the air, muttering soothing words.

A shriek slices through the air. The palm tree tumbles down and the ground cracks beneath them and the soft wind turns foul as they fall and fall and fall into inky blackness. 

A shadow keeps constant watch.

 

"Is this really me?" Lance finds himself asking at twelve years old as he looks in the mirror. He holds the Garrison uniform up to his body, the white and orange fabric molding against his brown skin like a second, permanent layer. The gold stripes shimmer in the afternoon light. 

Veronica had been his reason for applying to the Garrison, having always looked up to her as a young child, watching her reach for the stars and wanting to do the same. Now he stands in front of the full length mirror, the window open in his bedroom to allow any breeze to enter in hopes of breaking apart the sweltering heat of a Cuban summer. A frown mars his face; Lance wonders if he has made the right choice. 

“So you were good enough to get accepted after all,” says a voice from the doorway. When Lance turns, he finds Veronica casually leaning into his room with her hands clasped behind her back. 

_ ‘Lance, I’m so proud of you; you’ll surpass me in no time,’  _ he faintly remembers the real life Veronica telling him, hands on his shoulders as they stood together. The shadows of his room begin to creep a little closer.  

“I-I guess,” Lance’s voice trembles instead. The fabric wrinkles in his hands as he brings it closer to his chest. “I studied as hard as I could.” 

“But that’s not enough, is it?” Veronica walks further into his room. Her usual somber appearance is twisted with a wicked light in her eyes; her mouth is pinched at the ends. 

“I don’t know,” Lance sighs, having no energy to fight the reality of her statement. The uniform is lowered to his side, dragging on the floor. 

“You’re going to end up as a cargo pilot,” Veronica continues on with her observations, her muscles tensing, “You’re just going to be a random name on the Garrison’s roster; no one will know who you are. You’re not  _ special _ .”

Shocked, Lance can only stare at his sister as his heart pumps wildly in his chest. If his sister is the one uttering these things then they must be true; she is always truthful to him. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t go after all.”

“But I--”  _ I do want to go,  _ is what Lance can’t seem to say as he stares at the Garrison uniform in his hands. It had been so bright before but now the colors look faded and old, the golden material tarnished. The article of clothing mocks him as if saying he’ll find no distinguished future if he wears this. 

Veronica is directly in front of him now, most of her face shadowed; Lance can barely make out the color of her eyes. It scares him. “Here, let me make your decision easier.”   

"What’re you doing!?" Lance screams, ducking suddenly to quickly grab a pair of scissors off of his desk, only just managing to raise them to parry the kitchen knife she had hidden behind her back. She’s older, has had more training experience, and thus overpowers his weak attempts at defense rather quickly.

Stupidly, he raises the uniform for protection when the scissors are knocked out his hand.

It’s slashed to shreds and so is he. 

 

He wakes in his old dorm room at the Garrison. No sunlight streams through the curtained window, and when Lance rolls over, neon green lights tell him that it is only a few minutes past midnight. Hunk continues to sleep soundlessly in the bed above him. 

Fog surrounds his vision as he stumbles out of bed, the floor cold beneath his bare feet. Under the doorway, a strip of light from the hallway seeps in, though it does little to break up any of the darkness that’s more than a few inches away from the door. Something interrupts this beam, most likely shadows from a pair of feet walking by, and it catches onto Lance’s curiosity. Sleep fades from his mind but the shadows still cling to him.

When he opens the door, Lance spots a familiar head of messy black hair walking by, an extra large t-shirt barely hugging his shoulders as the stretched-out collar begins to slide down one arm. Though Lance’s sixteen year old face scowls at the sight of his rival, his eighteen year old heart can’t help but stutter.  

“Hey, you’re up late; sneaking out after curfew?” Lance’s voice speaks for him, allowing his consciousness to sit back and enjoy the memory--or what little there is of it. Lance doesn’t recall this conversation having been anything more than a series of grunts from Keith. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. 

Upon hearing this, Keith actually stops, body tense as he swings around. A brief but unmistakable yellow glow gleams into those violet-gray eyes for a second. Lance freezes at the sight.

As if stalking his prey, Keith backs him further into the corner, a hand harshly pressed against Lance’s chest as Keith begins to lean forward. Sharp teeth appear when Keith grins wickedly, his words only a little more tame than a growl, and his breath is hot as it brushes across Lance’s skin. “I can’t believe you think you’ll ever be better than me.”

Now Lance clearly remembers just being mostly ignored when he had reached out to Keith originally, but inches away from the man this time around has Lance wanting to bridge the gap and kiss him. Unfortunately, this is not the time nor the place--a couple years too early. This doesn’t stop old anxieties from bubbling to the surface again though, the old rivalry reappearing in his mind. 

“I’ll make fighter pilot one day, Mullet,” Lance snaps back, pushing against the hand. Keith’s nails grow longer, piercing the thin cotton of Lance’s night shirt, almost nicking his skin. Gaze flickering down, Lance’s breath hitches in his throat. Suddenly it’s just them, the hallway of the Garrison fading away, and voice quiet, Lance says, “You promised you’d never hurt me.” 

Keith’s skin holds a purple hue when Lance’s eyes return to Keith’s face. “Oh, Lance, you know better than to believe in my promises.” 

“I trust you, Keith, you won’t hurt me.” His heartbeat remains steady in his chest as he gazes into those yellow, pupiless eyes. Shadows slide over Keith as if they are hands curling over his shoulders. Fangs fully appearing, Keith’s grin becomes sinister.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Maybe Lance doesn’t, but maybe this isn’t actually Keith at all. Though, he still falls prey just the same.

 

This time it’s not a memory; Lance finds himself on Earth in his scuffed paladin armor, sniper rifle loosely hanging from his hand before flashing back into its normal bayard shape. Before him stands an Earth he doesn’t remember. Before him stands a hometown he can no longer match to his memories. 

It’s destroyed; it’s all  _ destroyed _ . The pavement is torn up, chunks scattered in every direction, and cars are overturned or just sit there, their windows cracked with spider web patterns. As he passes by, he spots himself in one of the dusty side mirrors. There’s a nasty scrape on his right cheek, a bruise appearing around his jawline. He looks just as destroyed as the town around him.

Nevertheless, Lance keeps walking a familiar path, eyes staring straight ahead as he remains unblinking. Soon he leaves the buildings and cafés and other stores behind in favor for the countryside. Surprisingly, he finds the dirt road unblemished. Flowers still bloom alongside it; he remembers picking those exact ones for his mamá many years ago. 

Then he sees it, his home. The porch railings are more rusted than he remembers, but that comes with age, and Lance hasn’t been home in almost three years. The terracotta shingles stand out as they always do, and the house’s white paint has only yellowed slightly. It’s all the same; for once he recognizes a part of Earth. No one greets Lance as he ventures closer, but he is determined to find them. 

His _ familia. _

It feels good just to think of the word. A smile lights up his bruised features as his muscles ache. 

He’s inches away from the door when a laser strike meets its target and Lance is thrown backwards by the blast.

As he picks himself off the ground, he watches fire consume the structure. He doesn’t know where his family is, if they’re inside or in a safe zone or already  _ dead _ , but it doesn’t stop him from running, his feet pounding against the ground to reach his childhood home. Sparks rain down around Lance. 

This is what breaks him, not his past but his future. 

Finally the shadows that have been stalking him throughout his whole life form into a cloaked woman, yellow eyes peering through the darkness her hood provides. “Let’s see, little paladin, let’s see you  _ crumble _ ,” Haggar whispers close to Lance’s ear, his eyes widening as he drops to his knees. Tears, with unrelenting fury, stream down his face.

Jolting awake, Lance’s body trembles, his hands gripping the bed sheets as sweat beads up on his forehead. Everything is dark, more of a fuzzy blackness, as Lance just lays there. His breathing quickly descends into labored breaths, and suddenly he feels a pair of warm hands cupping his face. 

“Lance,” Keith’s voice cuts through the dark, “Are you okay?” When Lance doesn’t respond, the words dissolving on his tongue before his lips part, his boyfriend tries again. “Hey, hey, it’s okay; you’re awake now.” 

Through the black fog, Lance searches for Keith, barely able to discern the figure above him, when he hears a loud, startled gasp.

Fingers prod dangerously close to his eyes, and Keith’s breath washes over him as the ends of his long black hair tickle Lance’s cheeks. “What the f--your eyes!” Lance has no idea what he means; the darkness continues to swim around him though orange and red hues lick at the corner of his vision. What’s wrong with his eyes? “Lance, Lance,” comes Keith’s voice again, this time a little more worried, a little more  _ afraid _ . “If you can hear me, please say something.”

Lance only groans.

Pressure lifts from the mattress as Keith’s frantic footsteps make their way near the door. A sharp beep of the comms system activating startles Lance. He feels like he is falling and his body reciprocates the action. Barely able to catch onto Keith’s voice, clinging to it like a lifeline, he almost drifts off back to sleep.  

“--llura, something’s wrong with Lance…. my room….  _ Please hurry _ .”

Lance thinks he hears Keith choke on a sob, but he must be imagining things because he slips into his dream state again. 

The last of the flames singe his skin and hair as he rushes in, avoiding the crumbling supports as he searches and searches in vain. He watches as his memories burn to ash--a photo, a scribbled drawing hung on the fridge, the creaking floorboard that had never been fixed,  _ everything _ . 

When Lance abruptly returns to reality, he finds his head resting in Allura’s lap as she sits behind him on the bed. Keith remains a constant next to him, fingers brushing over the back of Lance’s hand; the action anchors him for a second. It’s not strong enough to extinguish the fire inside his mind though, and Allura’s magic barely begins to quell those flames. 

Haggar returns, stepping through the fire, her clawed hands reaching out to him. “Let go. Come to me, little one, and it will all stop. Let your mind go, and this torture will all be over.”

Slowly, he begins to extend his arm, fingers grasping at the black air. 

“ _ Lance _ ,” he hears Keith call out to him distantly, as if he’s sinking to the bottom of an ocean and Keith is up on the surface, voice barely breaking through the waves. Lance tries to swim upwards. “Lance, baby, please, please wake up. Please fight this,” Keith pleads, hands gripping Lance’s tightly though he can barely feel the pressure. Lance’s eyes dart back and forth, simultaneously seeing a fuzzy version of Keith and Allura shadowed in blue and the fire burning down his home. 

Allura’s fingers grip the sides of his head tighter, her white locks falling in unkempt waves around her face as sweat beads up on her dark skin. Breath hitching, Lance is drawn back into his mind, the smoke choking his lungs as he desperately digs through the rubble. Ash coats his fingers, staining them with a thick layer of soot, and the dying embers are the only source of light and color.  

Haggar remains as an ever present shadow in Lance’s mind. Purple energy shimmers around her body, and her yellow eyes track his every move. Trying to ignore the sickening feeling creeping up his body, bile tasting rotten in his mouth, Lance digs and digs and digs. His nails break under the harsh work; dirt hides any blood that begins to accumulate. Even in the dream he can feel the stinging in his hand as he accidentally slips in his hastiness, a nasty cut slicing through his palm when he catches his hand on an exposed nail.  

Lance cries out and suddenly he’s conscious again, though unable to see.

“She’s fighting me,” he hears Allura gasp out. “Her hold on him is too powerful. I--I don’t have enough energy.”

Keith’s voice is strong despite her confession. “Use me.”

“What?” Startled, Lance feels Allura’s grip loosening on his mind. 

“Use my energy, lifeforce, quintessence, whatever; take as much as you need.”

“Keith, if I take too much by accident…” her voice trails off, but the implications of her missing words are clear.

“If it can save Lance, I don’t care. Use it all if you have to.”

The blue glow of the room strengthens as Keith releases a startled gasp, groaning suddenly as if something precious is being taken away. His head falls onto Lance’s chest, breathing heavy, and his fingers twist into Lance’s shirt. Before he can whisper to Keith that everything will be alright, despite not believing it himself, Lance slips back into his dream.  

Only this time it’s not his dream, Lance is quick to realize, but it is Keith’s, and in fact, this is not a dream at all but a set of memories.  _ Keith’s memories.  _ Of a single father raising his son, of that son sitting in front of his only family’s grave, of the orphanages and foster homes, and of the Garrison. Lance watches Keith’s life pass by as the quintessence that connects them impacts every cell in Lance’s body. He glows from the inside out, and Keith’s grip on Lance tightens.  

Their energies intertwine as Allura channels them together. 

Sensing her connection weakening, Haggar harshly grabs onto Lance’s arm with an enraged howl, pulling him into those threatening shadows, but something prevents him from falling. Soft fingers encircle Lance’s other wrist, and in this dream state, Lance turns to find Keith, a fuzzy whiteness outlining his body, acting as a beacon to the world of the living. 

“Lance, it’s time for us to go home,” Keith says, though his lips don’t move. His violet-gray eyes flicker with a golden hue in the darkness. 

Haggar’s connection to his mind slowly fading, Lance begins to step away from the shadows, one foot in front of the other as Keith leads him out. 

Lance doesn’t remember waking up again.

But he’s conscious to Keith’s arms wrapping tight around his body, nose nuzzling into his neck and hair, and voice saying, “It was just a nightmare, love, come back to me, please,” so maybe he will soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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